


Low life

by OTPs4Ever



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Fashion & Couture, Gen, a little bit of Ash angst, hot sex madrigal in the middle of my leather pants, mission to Kronos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 16:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14548902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPs4Ever/pseuds/OTPs4Ever
Summary: Oh, what to wear for a mission to Kronos...?  Why, rock-star head-to-toe leather, of course!  And Georgiou gets to be a Georgious bitch, darling.





	Low life

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I really, really do love love LOVE Discovery, but I can't help finding the outfits the away-team to Kronos wore truly ridiculous. They must have asked the computer for 'Early twenty-first century Justin Theroux'. And the ultra-straightened hair? - here, and for all the Mirror Universe characters? When did that become a by-word for evil/badassery? Written with love.

Tilly and Burnham stood before the replicator in their quarters.

“She said ‘low lives’,” Tilly said. “That must be the key term.”

“I agree,” Burnham replied.

“What does that look like _exactly_?”

Burnham shook her head. “I do not know.” They looked at each other. “Lieutenant Tyler is Chief of Security. Disguise must be within his remit,” Burnham continued decisively. “Also, he has memories of Kronos and what might be considered low life there.”

“The mind boggles, but okay. So shall we ask him?”

“Let us try the computer again. We haven’t framed the question correctly.”

They had already requested that it show them attire suitable for Orions, lower income individuals, petty criminals, itinerant populations, arms dealers and similar variants, all with unconvincing results. Burnham had felt that the computer’s suggestions failed to project the right combination of qualities – low life but somehow in possession of Lorca’s highly-valuable weapons collection – necessary for the success of their mission.

“Computer, suggest clothing suitable for ‘low lives’,” she said, shrugging slightly at Tilly.

The computer’s response appeared on screen. Apparently there was a type of music known as ‘low life’, and its aficionados favoured a certain look involving bright neon.

“I think we really need to ask Tyler,” said Tilly. “The Emperor is not going to like to be kept waiting.”

“Very well,” Burnham agreed, and they made their way to his quarters. When the door slid open, revealing Tyler’s six-foot plus figure clothed from head to toe in leather, they had to make an effort to swallow their reactions. Disconcerted by how thoroughly he looked like a human male, Burnham wanted to look away.

“Turns out we should have asked the computer for ‘super-cool hot leather duds,’” Tilly commented.

“I was thinking you’d be more – ready,” said Tyler.

“We have found it difficult to request the right attire from the computer,” Burnham replied.

Tyler started to explain his choice. “First off, anyone looking at us has got to see power.”

Burnham nodded, but Tilly interjected: “I just think you, well you just look real – cool, and kind of like you spend a lot on clothing.”

“Oh,” said Tyler, with a trace of doubt. “Wasn’t going for cool.”

“Also I’m guessing like you wouldn’t want anyone dirtying what you’re wearing. Or touching it.”

“Oh.” Tyler’s face fell a little further. “I asked the computer to scuff it up a little. I can’t request another one. But” – he reached for a non-regulation weapon – “I’m going to strap this round here, and it should look, kinda, you know, rough and ready.”

“It is adequate,” said Burnham. “Could you please enter the same parameters that you used into the replicator for myself and Tilly.”

“Just add a little extra all the way around,” Tilly said. “I wouldn’t like it to be as tight at the Terran uniforms, especially if this mission requires actually sitting down.”

Tyler replicated the items one by one, emphasising that they should exhibit clear signs of wear, and Tilly and Burnham took them to their quarters to dress.

 

*

They stood in Georgiou’s quarters, all three of them, ready for inspection.

“You people,” she laughed, sneering, and casting a glance at Tyler that reiterated her earlier assessment of him, that he was less than ‘people’, “you have so little imagination. Here’s a chance for you to play dress-up, have a little fun, and you come up with this sorry effort. It’s no surprise that you’re facing defeat by an inferior race. So bloodless. So safe.”

She circled them, looking at the detail of their attire.

“There’s very little time before we have to leave. Use it. Accessorise." She gestured with one shiny fingerless-gloved hand around her neck. "Studs. Nails. Boots.”

“We shouldn’t use any more replicator power,” Tyler commented.

“You can use the one in here. It seems my illustrious predecessor had hardly used his allowance. So, boots,” she repeated. “Up to here. And high. Sky high.”

Then: “Michael, could you manage something around the neck? – a collar?” She laughed as Burnham’s eyebrows rose. “A choker then. And Tilly.”

She stood before Tilly as though she was going to lick her. “You have such a magnificent bosom. Don’t hide it. But these curls.” She touched them again, spiralling her finger around one of them. “They really do _have_ ” – and she tugged on it – “to go.”

Now it was Tyler’s turn. 

“And you. What are you wearing underneath that leather?”

“You don’t need to know that,” he answered, looking ahead.

“No. You’re right. I was just teasing,” Georgiou answered with another, mocking, laugh. “If Starfleet can’t use you after all, I can think of a few things you would be good for.”

With another look at each of them, Georgiou swept towards the exit, flicking her little leather cape over her shoulder.

Tyler turned towards the replicator, and Burnham caught a glimpse of his anguished expression. She could almost have shouted something at Georgiou’s receding figure, so unknowingly cruel had been her words. Cruelty, though, was her currency; she would not have hesitated to make the same crude insinuations to him had she known about his recent past.

“That was quite the pep talk,” Tilly commented, looking from Burnham to Tyler. “But I guess now we know what low life really looks like.”


End file.
